


Saints Are Sinners Too

by JacksMedullaOblongata



Series: Cablepool Chronicles [3]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M, and part 3 is out, back at it with the two guys who cant tell if they love each other or not, continuation of the first 2 parts, my bad for taking so long i am a shrimp, oh hey its been 2 years, quarantine rly been makin me write again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24209137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacksMedullaOblongata/pseuds/JacksMedullaOblongata
Summary: After those events, both Wade and Cable have to deal with their own feelings. One of them is very enthusiastic, while one (not naming names, but it rhymes with Wathan Wummers) is being a big old douchebag. But, despite this, life continues.
Relationships: Cable/Deadpool, Ellie Phimister/Yukio (Deadpool Movies), Nathan Summers/Wade Wilson
Series: Cablepool Chronicles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1037306
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. •	Maybe you're my enemy now I've finally let you come a little close to me

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So it's been ………… 2 years ………… yeah. But I've been writing this chapter in the saga across the two years and this quarantine deal has really kicked me up the ass to keep writing. Since it's been so long, I doubt this addition will really be noticed, but I don't mind. Maybe some people who read the first two will be like 'it's been SO long' but ya know, it always felt unfinished and I had bits of chapters drafted for actual years. 
> 
> So, here it is! Part three of the Cablepool Chronicles (what a dumb name, college me). This is gonna be a little different, since the chapters will switch POVs - think of it like the first two, combined. Alternating Cable and Deadpool. 
> 
> As with the first two, Deadpool's chapters use aliases (e.g. Wade, Domino, Cable, Negasonic) and Cable's use names (Nathan, Neena, Wilson). Should make the switches okay to understand. 
> 
> Thank you for waiting years!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part 3 to my series, which I recommend reading both parts of (or at least the first) so you know what's goin' on with these dudes.

Wade wakes with an unexplainable – _scratch that, easily explainable_ – feeling of elation. The first thing to cross his mind is the way Cable’s mouth had tasted, less of gunmetal and more like the vanilla-ry lip balm he wears. From how it’s hurting, he has a feeling his arm is bruised from Cable’s cybernetic fingers. Thinking back, the strength behind the careful grip on his arm scares him a little. Wade slaps a palm onto his face, exhaling loudly. Someone taps his foot where it’s sticking out from under his sheets. He peeks out between his pinky and ring finger, hoping to see Cable. It’s just Domino.

“What is it?” he asks from beneath his hand. She shrugs. 

“Nothing. Just waking you up because it’s two in the afternoon and I figured you might want to actually get something done today.” 

He sits up, rubbing an eye dramatically. In truth, he’s the most awake he’s felt in a long time. She smiles. “Your shirt’s backwards.” 

She leaves Wade to sort himself out, but he calls after her. 

“Have you seen Cable at all?” he asks, wrestling it around his arms, watching the tag rotate as he struggles. Domino stops in the door, leaning on it to think. She points a finger. 

“I saw him go out sometime this morning. No idea if he’s back yet.” 

Wade swears some higher power must be working in his favour, or Domino was lying (not that he would care if she was anyway), because Cable starts to come down the corridor. He looks up at the same time as Wade looks at him. Their eyes meet. _Oh, baby, rom-com moment incoming_ , Wade thinks. They stare at each other for a long time. Domino turns her gaze from one to the other, bemused. _And here’s the part where he –_

Cable does a U-turn and walks away. Wade furrows his brow. … _okay, so this isn’t a romcom I’ve seen._

“What was that?” Domino asks. 

“Absolute, entire body-paralyzing sexual tension,” Wade chirps. Her eyebrows raise like an invisible forklift was working in overdrive. 

“You say that like it’s supposed to be new to me.” 

Wade opens his mouth but stops. Sure, he wants to brag about having made out with old metalface over there. Yet a part of him, the single shred of reserve he keeps for his own self-respect, is telling him to stay quiet. _Nathan wouldn’t like you to spill the details like a college kid who made out with the class hottie in Spin the Bottle, now, would he?_ the little voice says, in what sounds like a pitch-shifted Ryan Reynolds voice. Wade’s internal voice needs to change to, like, Dwayne Johnson or Morgan Freeman. 

“Wade. You look like a goldfish.” 

Domino’s voice drags him out of this detour. 

“Oh, I’m just airing my tongue. It’s the secret to curing morning breath, didn’t you know? I read it on Buzzfeed.” 

“What else did Buzzfeed have to say?” Domino asks, already leaving. 

“Something about Trump,” Wade says, half to himself, “and that my zodiac sign means I’m a poppy seed bagel.” 

He starts wondering what Cable’s zodiac sign is. He definitely gives off plain bagel vibes. Damn, all this bagel talk has made him hungry for breakfast. Since it’s afternoon, lunch. Fuck it, _brunch_. He should go trademark that word before anyone else thinks of it. Wade hops his way down the corridor, pulling socks on, mismatching ugly argyle ones he remembers taking from a homeless man in exchange for ten bucks. He swoops into the kitchen – _empty for once, thank fuck,_ Detective Pikachu coos in his mind – and homes in on the bagels by the toaster like a starving bird. 

“Time to commit cannibalism,” he says, taking two bagels for good measure, biting one as he starts making some meat pile with the other. Not long after, he hears familiarly heavy footsteps. Cable walks into the room, not even glancing in his direction. Wade continues to eat because the bagel is half in his mouth and both his hands are occupied with his meat ( _hee hee_ ). It’s like a stack of ham, baloney and turkey. Cable glances at it as he gets juice from the refrigerator. 

“What’s that?” he asks, a tinge of disgust in his voice. “A vegan’s nightmare?” 

“That gets a six out of ten as a joke. And I figured you liked protein, so respect my Scooby-sized Hambalkey sandwich,” Wade says. Cable grimaces and waves a hand as he’s assaulted by crumbs. They hang in the sleeve of his hoodie and he looks at them as if Wade’s personally insulted his mother. Wade pauses and looks at them too. 

“Want me to lick them off?” he says, more crumbs exploding from his mouth like a sandy beach being bombed. Cable rolls his eyes and shakes his arm to get them off, before reaching up to get a glass from the cabinet. He almost elbows Wade in the head but from his expression, he doesn’t care. 

“You want some of this?” Wade asks, gesturing, finally having consumed his first bagel. Cable ignores him. _Maybe he has to concentrate intensely when he pours juice._

“I’m not answering you,” Cable says ( _oh, yeah, he can read my mind_ ), “because I’m not eating anything your hands have touched.” 

“Not even my world-famous chimichangas?” 

“Not even those.” 

“Aw, you’re missing out. On my meat.” 

Wade sees the telltale grit of Cable’s jaw but he’s not so afraid anymore, leaning forwards as he presses both hands to flatten his bagel meat bonanza. 

“So,” he says chirpily, “that _kiss_ , huh? Or, I guess, those _kisses_. We gonna discuss it? Making out till you pass out is new for us.” 

_Well, pass out would have been ideal, until you left to sleep in your own room._

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Cable says, closing his eyes as he leans his back on the counter, sipping his juice. 

“But there’s a lot to talk about,” Wade says, now using his elbow on the bagel in an attempt to flatten it to a less shameful size, “such as, I want to use your lip balm too, so I taste just as fruity sweet.” 

“Wilson,” Cable says. 

“Nate!” Wade says brightly. The glass creaks in Cable’s hand and Wade stares at it. _Okay, breaking a glass with his metal hand was badass, but with his human hand, that's kinda hot._

“Okay, tough guy, chill. Ease up on the steroids next time we talk, huh?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Cable says, strangely calm as he looks at Wade. “It was a lapse in judgement. A moment of weakness. You got in my head too much.” 

“Nobody makes out with someone else because they’re having a moment of weakness,” Wade counters, considering asking Colossus to help flatten this bagel. “You kissed back, you pulled me closer. That’s pretty gay. Can I say that?” 

“Hm. See it that way if you want.” 

Wade stops, staring with incredulous eyes at the cyborg. “Gaslighting is mean. You, a man, kissed another man, may I add, with _vigour_ , and you’re actually saying it wasn’t a _little_ bit homo? Are you a frat boy being hazed? No. No need to be so worried about it.” 

Cable heaves a sigh, finishing his juice. Wade persists. 

“The only reason we didn’t take it to bed –” 

“The reason we didn’t take it to bed,” Cable cuts across, a hardness in his voice, “is because I didn’t want to. There’s no way you’re getting me in your bed, ever. Not even to sit on it.” 

“Is that a challenge?” Wade says slyly. Cable puts the glass down, hard. 

“Wilson, stop talking.” 

“You say that a lot.” 

“No. Stop running your fucking mouth, and quit thinking, for one second. Can you do that? Can your one small cell of a brain fucking handle that?” 

Wade shuts his mouth and tries to still his brain, where Hal Jordan is squealing about _almost_ having sex with Thanos. Cable sighs again, slumping a little. He places his palms on the counter, head hanging. 

“Just drop it for a while, okay? I don’t want to think about it.” 

“Because you hate me and –” 

“I don’t hate you, dumbass. I just have a lot to go over in my brain and if you just continue to piss me off, I’ll never be able to come to terms with it. Get it?” 

“Oh,” Wade says. “Okay. Wife and all. Still married and making out with a squeaky bald asshole.” 

Cable looks defeated. “That’s a stupid way to put it, but yes. Don’t – _please_ , don’t – read into it too much. And do not go fucking telling anyone.” 

“Okay,” Wade says, thinking about how fast he can eat this bagel before finding Domino to tell her like a gossipy bitch. 

“Not even Neena. I will know if you do,” Cable says, that bite back in his voice, and Wade remembers again that his thoughts aren’t safe. He shrugs a shoulder. 

“Anyway, you have to admit I don’t kiss badly.” 

“Oh, really?” Cable says, gaze flat against Wade’s. He crosses his arms like it’s ground he has to hold. Wade nods enthusiastically. 

“Yeah, something other than hate looks good in your eyes.” 

“Is that so?” Cable says softly. Wade stops. _Is this … is he flirting? These replies are cryptic as hell … what a sneaky bastard._

“Some time you’ll admit it yourself, you know. I can take your breath away with a kiss like an angel.” 

“Oh, for sure,” Cable says, and Wade’s heart half stops. 

“What the _fuck_ ,” he says, and Cable lifts a brow. “You _have_ to be flirting. These are fanfiction levels of sexual-tension-causing words.” 

“Not everything I do and say is flirting,” Cable says levelly. “I’m not some horny fuck like you. I can hold a conversation without getting a hard-on.” 

“It’s a semi,” Wade says innocently. Cable doesn’t talk to him again, washing his glass and walking out as if Wade wasn’t there in the first place. 

Wade waits till he’s barely gone to speed out and run to find Neena like a child. He slows after a while of searching, realising he’s a six-two forty-year old man, not a college girl who just started dating the head football jock. He shakes his head. _I need to stop with these college girl references, they’re not all sexy cheerleaders. If I was a college girl, though, that’s what I would be. Shortest skirt in the dressing room._

“You running from Cable?” 

He stops so fast on the spot he almost falls forwards. Neena is sitting in an empty room, stretching as if she’s doing yoga, but _cool_ yoga, watching him with a smile. 

“Oh,” Wade says, mortified at how out of breath he is from sprinting around this big house as if Xavier’s wheelchair was superpowered and on the hunt for his blood. “Dom, there you are. Listen, I have to tell you something.” 

“Is it something Cable would kill you slowly for telling me?” she asks. He catches his breath, and nods. She grins widely. “Tell me now, Wade.” 

He sits down by her as she continues to stretch, telling her the juicy details, from the way Cable slunk into his room like a bad seventies porno, to how he kissed first ( _may have elaborated on the details so it sounded less painfully awkward_ ) and the how Cable finally, _finally_ , kissed back, and _damn_ he kissed with passion. Domino stops halfway through, less stretching and more staring, her face amazed and shocked. As soon as Wade’s done, she laughs out loud. 

“Wow,” she says, “I figured he’d kill you and throw your body out a moving truck before he touched you.” 

“But, Dom, he’s conflicted. He doesn’t want to talk about it.” 

“Give the guy time, I think we’d all feel the same if we kissed you,” she says, lips curling at her jibe, which actually makes Wade stop to think. _Hey, that’s true._

“I’m gonna go lie down,” he eventually says, throwing a peace sign at Domino before departing. Once flopped onto his bed, Wade replays the memory of kissing _goddamn Nathan ‘Cable’ Summers_ until he passes out into sleep. 

*

When he wakes up from his nap, it’s only been an hour, but he’s feeling spry and very thirsty for juice. He has no idea if the orange juice supply is refilled since he finished it last, but it’s worth checking. Humming the My Little Pony theme to himself, Wade prances on down to the kitchen, where he’s stopped dead in his tracks. Cable is by the counter, inexplicably shirtless. If Wade knew better, he’d have thought some nefarious god was planning these fucking encounters. It’s a mishmash of metal and man, a very satisfying alliteration to cross his mind. 

Wade has seen Cable shirtless enough times he has every ridge memorised, but he realises he’s never looked at Cable in a way that wasn’t in the mentality of a sex-starved walrus. So, leaning next to the microwave and besides Cable, who tenses at his arrival, he properly just _looks_. The amount of cables is something that hadn’t bothered him until he realises – _Cable is almost more machine than human. What happened here?_

“So what is all that cybernetic junk? You install it yourself?” Wade asks, craning his head upside down. Cable shrugs. 

“Not exactly.” 

“So…?” 

“Do you really have to know?” Cable asks, turning to fix him with a glare. 

“Yes,” Wade answers automatically. Cable sighs. After a long pause, he finally replies. 

“It’s a virus.” 

“What?” Wade turns around to face him, upright. “Like an STD?” 

Cable gives him a very level look. 

“No.” 

Wade continues. “Did you, like … catch it?” 

Cable turns away again. “I’m not going into detail.” 

“Cause it’s _naughty?_ ” Wade asks slyly. 

“Because I don’t want to,” Cable responds, his tone hard. 

“Okay,” Wade says, holding his hands up for a truce. “Does it hurt?” 

Cable’s vague ‘mm’ doesn’t give him much of an idea. Wade shakes his head. 

“That’s not a –” 

“I’m not a bitch about it.” 

“How far does it go?” Wade figures changing the subject might help. _Maybe he has a metal dick._

“Right now it’s not too bad.” 

Cable’s voice is as unbothered as it could sound, but Wade doesn’t miss the ‘right now’. 

“You mean it’ll get worse?” he asks, surprised at how caring he suddenly is for this walking sullen T-1000 ripoff. 

“Of course, dumbass,” Cable replies, a throwaway insult. Wade stands up so he can face him properly. 

“No, don’t you be an angry ass at me. Your cyborg virus is getting worse? Can’t you do anything?” 

“I have a virus from the future and you think there’s a cure _now?_ ” 

Cable’s voice has become gelid. 

“Hey, you never know, we have great stuff. Hot pockets, Tinder, mutant protection alliances.” 

Cable doesn’t reply. Wade tries another angle once more. 

“So what’s the virus called?” he asks, leaning on the counter again. 

Cable doesn’t pause or look across as he straightforwardly replies, “Techno-organic virus.” 

Wade raises his brow. “Gesundheit. That’s a mouthful.” 

“Yeah.” 

“How far does it extend? And tell me this time instead of making an excuse.” 

This time, Cable actually looks directly at Wade, dislike flickering over his face. 

“Why am I talking about this with you?” 

“’Cause I talk to you the most, even though you resent me for it,” Wade answers, watching the anger change to reluctant acceptance. “True, right?” 

“Unfortunately,” Cable mutters. Wade runs a fingertip in loops on the counter, making a soft sound which he knows will get on Cable’s nerves. 

“So,” he says, “my question.” 

“Most of it is what’s visible,” Cable answers. Wade can see his eyes flick down to his hand. He starts to tap during the loops. 

“So how much past your arm? I know it’s on your neck and back.” _Hello, Khia._

“Mm. And across the chest.” 

“Some? I’m looking at you shirtless. It’s a lot.” 

Cable bristles at the reminder. The tapping is incessant. He slams his fist onto the back of Wade’s hand, and Wade silently curses as he feels something break. Cable lifts his hand like nothing happened. 

“It’s not as big of a deal as you’re fucking making it,” he says, acerbic, watching Wade try to pretend he isn’t in pain. 

“Can I touch it?” Wade asks abruptly. Cable almost looks taken aback, blinking with a frown. 

“What? No.” 

“Come on.” 

“I said no.” 

“Is it an …” _erroneous zone? That’s not the right word._

“That isn’t the right word.” 

“Well, if you know the word, tell me.” 

“No.” 

“You’re so taciturn. It’s almost like you don’t want to talk to me.” 

“You talk enough for both of us.” 

“ _Ouch._ You could at least be nicer than just replying in the singular.” 

“You ask me simple questions. I give you simple answers.” 

“What about complex questions? Give me the square root of sixty-nine.” 

Cable lists off some numbers with a straight face. Wade hesitates. “Did you get it right? I don’t know the answer.” 

“Yes.” 

“ _See._ Just as short –” 

“That was a simple question, like I said.” 

_Stop playing me!_ Wade thinks in frustration. Cable tilts his head. 

“I just bullshitted those numbers and you believed me.” 

Wade throws his hands up. “Two can play at that game. You don’t like simple questions? Fine. Complex question. What are you into?” 

Cable is unable to answer for a moment. He looks at Wade, expression ambiguous. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Anything,” Wade replies vaguely. Cable looks him in the eye with an intensity that silences Wade completely, both internally and externally. 

“You,” he says, and Wade's heart almost explodes, but then it sinks as Cable, a hint of malice, adds, “not talking to me.” 

“You almost killed me there,” Wade says hoarsely. Cable is neutral. 

“Good thing it wasn’t what you thought, then.” 

Wade lets out a long wistful sigh. “You know, I could really kiss you right now.” 

Cable’s face becomes unreadable. There’s a long pause. Wade looks at him. “When I said you weren’t talkative, it wasn’t a hint for you to clam up.” 

“I’m just trying to process that right now.” 

“Oh. I made you speechless, huh?” 

“I’m deciding whether to break your other hand.” 

_Yikes._

“My offer was nicer for both of us.” 

“Stop talking already, Wilson.” 

“Make me,” Wade retorts with daring. Cable doesn’t do anything. He coughs. “That’s, uh. Your cue.” 

“My cue?” Cable replies like the phrase is foreign to him. Wade slumps. 

“You never … _make me_ is a pretty big hint –” 

“I know. I’m just fucking with you.” 

Cable’s face is so stone serious it’s hard to tell what reaction he wants. Wade leans on his elbows on the counter, looking up at him pensively. Mildly aware of how close he’s being watched, Cable looks down at him. 

“What?” 

_Soy milk_ , Wade thinks. Cable’s brow furrows as he registers it. Before he can say anything, Wade leans as high as he can and kisses him. It’s awkward and wonky, lips only half reaching, since Cable is half turned away, and Wade maneuvers himself up with the countertop so he isn’t so low down. 

After a few long seconds, Cable carefully pushes at his chest to separate them. 

“You’re incorrigible,” he says. _Double Scott Pilgrim reference in one minute! Score!_

“You can’t resist me,” Wade answers in a singsong voice, seeing through the façade. Cable turns to face out the window. 

“Ass,” he mutters, but it’s not a genuine insult. Wade touches his mouth with a finger thoughtfully. 

“Your lip balm should be flavoured like Coke or something.” 

“And why, exactly?” Cable responds in a tired voice. 

“So it’s more interesting.” 

“For you, maybe.” 

“That’s the _point,_ Nate,” Wade says, not missing the way Cable’s face clouds over. He switches topic. “Soy milk was smart, admit it.” 

“If by ‘smart’ you mean distracting, then fine.” 

There’s a pause. Then Cable looks at him. “Coke is a flavour of lip balm?” 

“Oh, yeah. They used to be big. I remember I had a Fanta one once and it smelled just like it, so I ate it, but it didn’t taste as good as it smelled.” 

“You’re so fucking dumb.” 

“I know,” Wade says, with too much pride in his voice. Cable suddenly looks purely exhausted with having to keep up with him, grey and tired, and Wade feels a strange surge in his chest to apologise for simply always being him. 

“Don’t,” Cable says, sighing. “Don’t do something so fucking dumb. Keeping your mouth closed is the best thing you can do, even if you think your intentions are good.” 

“I’m –” 

“I said _don’t._ ” 

The door bursts open, Ellie looking at them a little wild-eyed. 

“Can you not hear us? We gotta go! There’s people downtown holding the entire damn mall hostage!” 

“Don’t the police handle that shit?” Wade asks, even as Cable started to the door without question. Ellie fixes him with a scathing look. 

“They’re mutants, asshole. I don’t think public safety relies on your laziness just because they want to inconvenience you.” 

That’s enough to get Wade moving, a desire to get his blood pumping since they haven’t had a fight in a day or so, and life is getting boring again. The carrier jet ride is short, none of them sitting, ready to depart the second it landed. Wade tugs his suit wedgie out and tries to meet Cable’s eyes but the guy’s staring resolutely ahead, thumb pushing his gun dial back and forth between three and seven, impatient. 

_Wanna make out more later?_ Wade thinks, projecting the words aggressively loud, figuring it will be funny. Cable winces, before glaring at him with a fresh anger Wade hasn’t been the target of in a hot minute. _Or, maybe not._ The subtle warning head shake Cable makes at him, eyes seething, confirms his joke has backfired. Wade sucks his guilt in, feeling a little foolish, but inwardly still snickering at how it was kinda funny. 

“Go,” Colossus says, and the X-Force team dispatch from the carrier onto concrete like heroic bees. There’s the usual clutter of police cars and reporter vans outside the mall, and they weave between them (Wade does a cool slide across the bonnet of one cop car, but it’s spoiled when none of his teammates see it) until they make it to the glass doors. 

“Yukio and Negasonic, take the front,” Domino says, taking charge since Colossus is still trying to pick his way between the cars, pointing the couple to an ajar glass door. “I’m finding the hostages. Cable and Wade, take the back entrance. Try to ambush them.” 

“So are the ‘them’, like, gunmen, or mutants, or mutant gunmen …?” Wade asks, not leaping on the endless possible 'back entrance' jokes. 

“We think all of the above,” Neena replies, eyeing the doors as they close behind Negasonic and Yukio. “Watch out, they’ve been shooting at officers. They won’t hesitate if they see you two, with your reputations.” 

“Are we keeping them alive?” Cable asks, and Wade feels a nice little tingle up his spine at the unspoken, _or can we kill them?_

“Try to keep them alive,” Domino says, “for questioning, but they’re hostile, so self-defense is sometimes necessary.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Wade chirps, and slips past Domino. “Come on, Arnie. We’ve got some gun-mutants to wipe the floor with.” 

They track their way around the side of the mall, the cop cars dwindling. There isn’t much conversation, even Wade grasping the seriousness of the hostage situation. He can’t resist cracking a few jokes, though, in classic Wade fashion. 

“Do you think they showed up for the froyo?” he whispers over his shoulder. Cable says nothing but he knocks Wade’s back with his gun butt. “Ow! I’m being honest, the flavours are to kill for.” 

“Wade,” Cable grates, the lowness of his voice too grim for Wade to revel in hearing his name again, “they have children hostage. They’re demanding money.” 

“Oh,” Wade says, and shuts his mouth. They reach the back entrance, where he dares to speak again. “They’ve probably got guards here, so let’s watch each other’s backs, yeah?” 

“Always,” Cable says, and meets Wade’s eyes with earnest agreement. A beat passes before his expression sours, and his lip curls in a grimace. “Get a fucking move on. We’re not here to shop.” 

Wade gets scampering, slipping up to the doors, pressing his back to the wall like a movie spy. He can hear conversation snippets, a little too muffled to pick up, but when he turns his head, he can see two men by the backdoor. “… if those freaks show up? The ones in spandex?” one says. He wrinkles his nose, glancing at Cable, who’s stone-faced. Then Wade pauses, and leans towards him, beckoning. Cable rolls his eyes but moves closer, crouching by him. 

“Can you read their minds?” Wade asks, whispering obnoxiously quietly, and Cable looks like he’s about to hit him. Regardless, he sets his jaw and turns his gaze to the doorways. Squints a little. 

“They said you’re the clown of the group,” he murmurs, and Wade genuinely can’t tell if he’s genuine or not. Cable tilts his head. “They’re aware the cops called us in.” 

“Do –” Wade can’t get more out, a gloved cybernetic hand grabbing his face, fingers digging in. It’s definitely the fastest way to shut him up … thinking back, Wade thinks, smiling as much as he can with his face being squeezed, there is _one_ faster way to shut him up. 

“The hostages are in the cinema,” Cable says, turning his gaze upwards. “It’s on the second floor. They’re demanding a million dollars … assholes.” 

He lets go of Wade’s face and brushes his hand on his pant leg, before rising. “The two by the door have guns but they’re not mutants. There’s only one, pretty sure he’s their boss.” 

“How convenient,” Wade says brightly, drawing his swords from his back. “Imagine if there was more than one, their powers would have to start getting creative. And why no women leaders? Isn’t that sexist? Just a bunch of chumps and one macho head-honcho with magic powers? Eh. That works for me.” 

“Are you done?” Cable asks dryly, brow furrowed, and Wade pats his arm. 

“I’m done, little guy.” 

Cable’s gaze is scorching as he turns away, striding for the door. It seems he’s set on going in guns blazing, although Wade knows both of them will have to be careful and stick to big sister Dom’s no-kill rules. 

“Ready when you are,” he says, stopping by Cable, who dials his gun to four. With a shared nod and a gaze held for a long few seconds, they turn to the doors and kick them open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from (you guessed it) Passion for Publication by Anarbor.
> 
> Chapter title from 'enemy' by Charli XCX.
> 
> The word Wade was looking for, fyi, was erogeneous. 
> 
> Cable saying "I'm just trying to process that right now" is a reference to Josh's reponse to when Ryan Reynolds says "you're so old you make dust look like a baby" in their BBC Radio 1'Playground Insults' video (like, a minute in, if you're now curious)
> 
> The Fanta chapstick is a true story. 
> 
> Here's my good old playlist for this fic series [https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5s12iVxNhu0o4Cx6VXNEZd?si=FNMdyXdlQx209NZWVJL-ug] -- enjoy that too, because it's being added to again, finally. 
> 
> PEACE


	2. Sick of you telling me what I've got to be in your goddamn fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cable and Wade push on to salvage the hostage situation, encountering a mutant with powers far more threatening than they initially think. Then Cable discovers the worst possible truth he could have imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV SWITCH TO CABLE (NATHAN) 
> 
> Thank you for being patient for an update for this (almost a year) and I hope you enjoy this latest chapter!

Nathan can always feel that stupid spiel of thoughts from Wilson’s head, but he’s got pretty apt at blocking them out now. He needs all his wits about him to work their way through this hostage situation. He knows he’s pretty much seen as a (attempted) child killer, but it doesn’t make his urge to protect kids any less. Wilson, on the other, is just here to slice and dice and maybe steal from shit from the mall as ‘payment’. 

They kick the doors open, startling the henchmen who are guarding them – clearly incompetently, since one doesn’t even have his gun in his hands. Wilson whoops, barging past Nathan, launching a spinning kick towards the unarmed man before slashing at his legs to drop him. The other one is nearer to Nathan, who lifts his gun. They both point weapons at each other for a beat, but then the gun pointing at Nathan clicks dully. He cocks his head with a wry grin. 

“Safety on?” he asks, before pulling the trigger, and the shockwave sends a cloud of dust after the reeling man, who skids across the polished mall floor and into a marble pillar, cracking his head. 

“No killing, Nate!” Wilson calls, and Nathan feels a surge of irritation again. He turns to see Wilson wrestling the unarmed goon, both of them reaching for his dropped gun. Nathan turns his gun dial down to a one and fires it lazily in their direction, watching as both men get slammed by it. Wilson’s red spandex elbow crashes onto the goon’s head in his flailing, knocking him out. 

“Nate!” Wilson whines as he stands and approaches, “did you just fire that at _me?_ ” 

“Oops,” Nathan says, his voice flat. “Guess I didn’t see you there.” 

When Wilson reaches him, however, he grabs him by the throat and yanks him close. 

“Call me Nate one more time,” he hisses, twisting the material until it’s chokingly tight, “and you’ll find yourself in two pieces again.” 

He lets go roughly, hearing Wilson stumble behind him. After a sweep the room, Nathan empties the goons’ guns and moves on, keeping his gait quiet. A lot less can be said for Wilson, whose stupid fucking mouth of his keeps spilling jokes out. 

“If I knew you were into choking, I’d have tried it sooner,” he says, hoarse. When this gets no reply, Wilson sighs. “What do you want me to say? The mask stays on during sex? I bet someone somewhere is into that. Fanfiction dot net?” 

_If he wants to make himself a clown and a target, prancing about bright red and loud, he can go ahead,_ Nathan thinks, suppressing another eye roll. He doesn’t want to pay any more attention to the stream of crude shit that’s always pouring out in Wilson’s obnoxious voice. 

Nathan’s so deep in angry thoughts about Wilson that he turns a corner, before seeing they’ve reached the atrium of the mall. He steps back fast, swinging an arm out to stop Wilson following like a fucking lemming, pushing him against the wall by his elbow. 

Nathan peers out, eyeing the atrium. He can see gunmen around, some lounging and some attentive, pockets of them around the floor. Between them are plants, seating and escalators to the second floor. Scanning above, he spots an obscured sign reading ‘cine’. _Bingo._ He turns to face Wilson, who’s picking his nose through his mask. 

“We either take this slow, or as fast as possible,” he says, already formulating a tactical plan in his mind – not that Wilson sticks to plans anyway. 

“Are you talking about this job or offering a quickie? Cause I’m listening, but I’m more interested in the second, if you want to know,” Wilson says, scratching his chin. Nathan has to take a moment to breathe, a split-second away from breaking Wilson’s neck with his bare hands. 

“I’ll take the left edge, you take the right. Don’t be ballsy, just take down anyone who gets in your way down and meet me by the far escalator. The cinema is upstairs, and if we’re careful, we can do this without casualties.” 

Wilson looks like he’s about to say something stupid (as always), but finally shrugs. “Got it.” 

Nathan turns back, and peers around the corner again, waiting for an opening. In the respite, Wilson’s thoughts begin to creep back into his mind. 

_Man_ , Wilson thinks, _I really want froyo now. If I do this, we’ll be heroes, and heroes should get a life supply of Mama Jana’s Frozen Yoghurt. Or at least a year’s supply. I wonder what flavour Nate likes? I bet I could treat him to some froyo. It’s healthier than ice cream, right? Fruit and healthy shit, he likes that. When’s his birthday?_

“Not for you to find out,” Nathan mutters, and Wilson jumps, scandalized. 

“Alright, Zoltar, guess you don’t get Wade’s special froyo mix for your big day.” 

Nathan almost shudders. “I don’t even want to know what the fuck that is.” 

“Ew, don’t be like that, it’s just froyo,” Wilson says, crossing his arms. “I bet you’d like it, and you’d have to lie to my face that you don’t.” 

“I’m sure,” Nathan scoffs, and snorts, but the banter is broken when he notices how Wilson gets fuzzy inside at it. _Jesus, he can’t turn off for a second, can he?_

Both their trains of thought are broken when they hear gunfire far off, and with his telepathy, Nathan can tell it’s Ellie and Yukio making their way to the atrium too. _This is our opening._ He nudges Wilson before moving out. 

Two goons are blasted off their feet before they even see him, flying back into a bench with a crash. Nathan spins, firing a hail of bullets at the floor, sending henchmen cowering as they strike marble. He sees a red blur on the opposite side of the room – somehow, Wilson actually stuck to the damn plan – and watches as Wilson cuts and slashes his way through, dealing surprisingly non-lethal injuries for a guy who normally hacks at throats. Nathan has to admit, there’s a strange grace when Wilson actually _tries_ in combat. He’s pretty sure the guy wasn’t trained anywhere, but maybe some skills came with his mutant powers. Somewhere, deep down in a place he’d never admit, Nathan is a little _impressed_. 

But he hasn’t got time to stare, continuing his way across the atrium. He ducks, bringing his psionic shield up to block a spray of bullets before landing a punch hard in a throat, downing a goon in a green shirt, before shoulder barging another in a scarf. He slams Scarf into another, their heads knocking together as he sweeps them aside, before finding only one in a red shirt left standing between him and the escalator. He raises his cybernetic hand as he moves towards Red Shirt, the bullets ricocheting off his palm as he closes the distance. Before Nathan can do a thing, though, Wilson leaps onto Red Shirt’s shoulders with a ‘yee-HAW!’ 

Nathan steps back as Red Shirt topples back, neck wrapped in Wilson’s legs. Wilson holds it until Red Shirt passes out, then leaps back to his feet, agile compared to his usual clumsiness. Nathan nods his mild appreciation. 

“Was that sexy or _what?_ ” Wilson says, wiping blood off one of his swords. Nathan sighs. 

“We have a priority,” he says, and hears Wilson huff as he heads to the escalator. Striding two steps at a time, Nathan ascends it fast, raising his gun to his eye as he crests the top. The floor is clear but, seeing the cinema entrance closed, he figures they’ll be in for more fighting once inside. Behind him, Wilson leisurely rides the escalator up, sprawled across the handrail belt. 

“Hey,” he says as he rolls slowly into sight, right into Nathan’s unimpressed gaze. “Come here often?” 

“Stop fucking around,” Nathan says. Wilson reaches the end of the handrail and crumples to the floor with a pained noise, any finesse wiped away. Nathan kicks his twitching hand. “Get off your ass. I’m not asking twice.” 

“Wasn’t Domino getting the hostages? And she’s, like … lucky, so she could do it easier than us,” Wilson asks, climbing to his feet and rolling a kink out of his neck. 

“We’re closer, and your laziness isn’t getting in the way of this job,” Nathan spits. _They’re relying on us, and you’re still dicking around._ He can’t stop the venom in his voice, and with it comes some comfort. He’s been feeling so compromised lately, it’s a reassurance to know his feelings towards Wilson haven’t changed, regardless of … events. He shakes his head to clear it, choosing to ignore letting it get to him. _That was a lapse, a weakness in my judgment_ , he repeats to himself, beginning towards the cinema, leaving Wilson prattling by the escalator. _I can’t forget it happened, but I can make sure as hell it doesn’t happen again._

The cinema entrance is a pair of double doors, a lot like the mall’s back doors but windowless, painted with large purple stars. He can hear the thoughts of the cinema’s inhabitants – goons’ jumbled musings, worry about the gunfire they heard, a cocky undertone from their leader, and alongside it all, fear from the hostages. He might have not had the luxury cinemas in his time, but he knows enough about them, even if he doesn’t give a shit about visiting them. The leader and hostages seem concentrated to one place he figures must be the largest screen room. 

“What are we waiting for?” Wilson asks, sidling up with his pistols in hand. “What’s happening in that head of yours, Xavier?” 

Nathan still has no fucking clue who Wilson’s referring to, even though the name is familiar somehow, and he raises a finger to his lips. Wilson motions zipping his mouth and nods slowly. He thinks, _we’re like a buddy cop film about to do a raid. He can be the fox and I’ll be the bunny._

With no idea how animals relate to their current situation, Nathan steps back and dials his gun to ten, his mouth thinning as he aims at the door. 

“The plan is, you stay behind me,” he says, holding Wilson in a harsh gaze. Wilson salutes. He grimaces. “Get your head out your ass and help me save some people, dipshit.” 

Not moving, Wilson nods in an infuriatingly eager way, and Nathan looks at him. _He needs to move or he’ll be blasted into a puddle on that wall_ , Nathan thinks. When he gestures his gun, Wilson motions with his pistols, as if to say ‘get a move on’. Giving up, Nathan grabs Wilson by the upper arm, yanking him behind him. 

“ _Behind_ me, unless you want to be collateral damage, dumb fuck,” he says, and fires. The cinema doors and half the wall around them smash open. _Hope we don’t have a damage budget._

Yells emerge from the cinema lobby and urgent footsteps move towards them. Nathan raises his shield, hearing bullets ping off it, charging the closest person. As he lands a fist in a soft stomach, he sees six people in his peripheral. Two have AKs, a white guy with dreadlocks (Wade thinks, _that must be Black Tom’s cousin!_ ) has a shotgun, two women, and the last has a pair of goggles on for whatever fucking reason. Nathan dials his gun back down to low and fires regular ammo at Shotgun, but misses as one of the women crashes into him in a flash of blonde and dark lip. 

“Get off my Cable, Karen!” he hears Wilson shout, red movement at the corner of his vision as he gets back onto his feet, enough to see the double barrel aimed at his face. Nathan lifts his hand in time, twisting so the buckshot glances off his forearm. Before Shotgun can fire again, Nathan grabs him by the throat. The man scrabbles before Nathan slams him over the cinema counter and lands him into the popcorn crate. He turns to see Wilson kick the other woman in the face, yelling “I promise I’m not sexist!” before deflecting a pistol round from Goggles. Nathan pulls his own pistol from the holster on his front, shooting Goggles in the calf. He barely has time to hear the man scream when a weight lands on his back. Popcorn rolls on the floor as hands claw at his face. Nathan stumbles back, lifting his pistol and pulling the trigger in impulse. Shotgun slides off and lands on the glass counter, bleeding from a hole under his eye. _Shit._

“Karen, I swear, I’ll _cut_ you!” Wilson shouts, standing on a couch near the far wall, before the blonde woman shoots at him. She looks surprised as the bullets don’t down him, before he shoots her back in the hip, and she falls with a cry. 

Nathan takes a moment to catch his breath, surveying the mess. There’s popcorn and blood trails everywhere. Wilson picks the bullets from his chest, swearing. Nathan looks back at Shotgun. 

“Damn,” Wilson says, skipping across the room and examining the dead man. He wipes his hand on Shotgun’s shirt. “Broke the rules there, Natey-Nate. But I won’t tell. Mister Culture Appropriation over here won’t be missed.” 

“Shut _up_ ,” Nathan growls, holstering his pistol as he scans the numbered wall signs. _The hostages are in screen six … down the hall on the left_. Neena isn’t here yet, but they can’t waste time. Angry thoughts radiate from the leader, who’s considering offing the hostages as motivation. 

Once they reach room six, Nathan looks at Wilson. Both of them are blood-flecked and dusty with marble shrapnel. Wilson gazes at him for a long second before reaching out, taking a piece of popcorn from beneath the shoulder of Nathan’s tactical vest. 

“Nice,” he says, pulling his mask up and popping it in his mouth. Nathan studies that pockmarked face with seething dislike, as Wilson thinks, _mm, buttery_. He wonders how he’s ever managed to be in his vicinity, let alone watching television together, let alone … _no_. He refuses to remember, a low burn in his throat mixed with nausea, turning his gaze downwards. He thinks of a magnetic pull in his heart, a soft feeling kindled, and for a moment he’s unsure if these are memories of Wilson, or his wife. The realisation makes the conflict even worse inside, with it coming that old dark anger. 

The door to the room is solid, the handle running the vertical length. Nathan takes his pistol from his belt holster and checks the magazine. 

“Protect the hostages,” he says matter-of-factly. 

“Sounds good. Are you ever gonna talk in longer sentences? Are words money to you?” Wilson asks, and Nathan’s resentment raises its head. 

“I’ve told you before. I say what’s necessary. Unlike you, I don’t spew shit constantly.” 

“I took an oral laxative.” 

Without Neena nearby, Nathan doesn’t want to wait any longer. He carefully grasps the bar, inching the door open. It’s dark in the room, but he can sense the hostages inside, their fear thick in his mind. Somewhere above them is the leader. 

_Go time_ , Wilson thinks. 

Nathan loosens his finger on the pistol’s trigger. Despite the size of the room, he doesn’t want to risk hitting a hostage. He pauses and puts it back in his belt holster, drawing out his knife from the back instead, wanting to take the leader down with minimal damage. He hopes Wilson has the sense in his brain to think the same. He pulls the door open. 

“You’re here.” 

The voice rings out, stopping Nathan in the front of the room, scanning the dark with his cybernetic eye. He spots a figure sitting on the row of seats by the top of the room. A dark huddle of bodies near the cushy VIP seating catches his eye too. 

“We’re here to take the hostages back,” he says, hand tightening on his knife hilt. He isn’t good with words or negotiating – knuckles to the face is his preferred way of communication, but he figures it’s a start. The figure stands, pacing a little. He radiates unbelievably cocky energy that compares with Wilson’s. 

“Oh, I know. I’ve been waiting. I had a feeling they would send the big guns after me. After all, cops aren’t on your level.” 

“Flattery won’t get you far,” Wilson calls, before flapping a hand. “Don’t stop, though.” 

A bitter laugh echoes around the room. “Imagine the views I’ll get when I beat the jocks of the X-Men group.” 

“Jocks?” Wilson asks, his masked face conveying surprise as he looks at Nathan. “You’re definitely a jock, but I think I’m more of a prep, really.” 

He looks up at the shadowed figure. “He’s a lot of muscle, but I’m _so_ charismatic, I’d definitely be a prep.” 

“I am Tate,” the voice continues, as if Wilson hasn’t said a word, and coloured dots rise up from around him. As more lights flicker on, Nathan and Wilson recognise the LEDs as belonging to a small group of drones. Basking in the beams directed at him, Tate raises his arms. “And after we’re done, I will be the most famous face in America.” 

He waves a hand and the cinema screen lights up, the drone to his left capturing his face onto it. “I’m going to stream this, and _everyone_ is going to see it.” 

_Dick_ , Nathan thinks, and before Tate’s speech is done, he’s moving. Tate sees him coming and laughs like a movie villain, the drones spreading out across the room. One swoops to film the hostages, two circling the action. Nathan ignores them, vaulting the row of seats between him and Tate, almost landing a booted kick on him. Tate dances out the way, crowing something about influencing, before Nathan swings his knife. The blade catches Tate’s elbow and he yelps, still laughing like a little shit, rolling back over the seats. They both stop facing each other, and in the drone light, Tate grins, his face plastered across the cinema screen. Nathan adjusts the knife in his hand, and from the movement, Tate’s eyes fall on his cybernetic arm. His grin widens. 

_What?_ Nathan thinks. A smug look flashes across Tate’s face before he points at Nathan’s arm. 

“Oh, super-soldier, that’s a _big_ mistake to bring to me,” he sings. Nathan is about to reply when his left hand grasps his right, snatching the knife and tossing it away. He stares. _What the fuck? I didn’t –_

There’s no time for confusion as his cybernetic hand launches for his own throat and he barely catches it in time, forcing his hand into the crook of his left elbow. Tate watches with that dickish grin, drone lights sweeping across him. 

“I used to use my powers for little things,” he says, glancing at the drones. “Turning the oven off from my room. Charging my phone. Then I figured, why not go _big?_ I can control anything with a gesture … no more hacking vending machines. I can be the best influencer in the world with all this tech at my fingertips. And now – you can’t even _touch_ me!” 

Nathan strains to look over his shoulder, where Wilson is fucking _sitting_ in a VIP seat, watching the screen. He grits his teeth, feeling the cables in his arm tautening as his uncontrollable hand gropes for his face, the sheer exertion causing him to stumble back in the aisle. He looks back to Wilson. 

“Wade!” he shouts, furious and just a little bit desperate, “what the _fuck_ are you doing?” 

Wilson hops up, turning to look at him with wide eyes. 

“Oh, shit, Cable, I didn’t even see you. Did you notice Tate’s name is a lot like yours? That feels lazy.” 

With a brief clash with his pride, Nathan draws in breath. “Come and _help_ , you dumbshit!” 

“Should have said sooner,” Wilson calls back, but he’s faithfully making his way towards Nathan, jumping across the tops of seats with his pistols aimed at Tate. Before either of them can see it, a drone swings down into Wilson’s head, and he falls almost comically. Tate bursts out laughing, and on the cinema screen there’s a slow-motion replay of Wilson’s fall. With an unwelcome pang of concern, Nathan’s concentration slips, metal fingertips latching to his neck. 

“Oh, give in already, old man,” Tate sighs, shaking his head dismissively. “You’re far less interesting than your buddy over here.” 

As a drone sweeps over where Wilson landed, a hand shoots up, snatching the landing gear. The drone buzzes in the air as another hand grabs on, before Wilson, very slowly, clambers to his feet. 

“I kinda hoped the drone would have lifted me up like a hero,” he says, looking at it with disappointment. His mask is ripped across the side but otherwise he seems unscathed. “You’ll pay for that!” 

Wilson points at Tate before ducking another drone that makes a pass at his head. He glances at Nathan. “ _And_ you’ll pay for fucking with my favorite of Cable’s arms!” 

“Wade, move!” Nathan shouts. _He’s so fucking stupid –_

“Sure I will, clown,” Tate mocks, and then another drone crashes into Wilson’s right side. This one hits him much harder, smashing from the contact as Wilson topples hard into the aisle out of Nathan’s view, shouting curses. Ignoring the mess, Tate picks up Nathan’s knife and starts towards him. 

“Let’s see how you do,” he says, grinning again. Nathan can tell he hasn’t handled a knife before and he deflects the first swing by moving his rebelling arm in the way. The blade glances off with sparks and Tate raises his eyebrows like it’s a challenge, swinging lower the second time and narrowly missing Nathan’s chest. 

“Come on, be a good sport, let me get one in,” he whines, jabbing the air just beneath Nathan’s arm. “Come on, come on, just a little prick –” 

“Yeah, you are a little prick.” 

Nathan looks up and has never felt more glad to see Neena standing triumphantly, feet on the seat backs either side of the aisle, all three drones in her hands, smoking. Tate’s smile drops fast as registers them, furious horror twisting his face. 

“How did you – that’s impossible!” 

“Nah, just lucky,” she says, before kicking him square in the jaw. Tate’s head snaps back and he collapses half onto a seat, the knife falling from his limp hand. Nathan’s arm stops trying to attack him, and he looks at Neena. She gives a probing look. 

“You okay?” she asks. He shakes his head. 

“I’m fine. Check Wade.” 

Sitting the back of a seat next to Tate’s unmoving body, Nathan can feel the cables in his bicep overexerted, not unlike a regular torn muscle. Neena is shepherding the cowering hostages with Colossus, where a few of the kids hug her. Ellie is standing with Yukio with the remains of the drone that smashed over Wilson. 

“That was the fucking _shit._ ” 

Nathan simply sighs, feeling the presence next to him, obnoxious. Wilson sits and kicks his legs up, prodding Tate. “Controlling technology? Drone shots? Dynamic lighting? Someone needs to edit that footage and make it into a fucking _cinematic masterpiece._ Does anyone have the Russos on speed dial?” 

“Too bad you survived that hit to the head,” Nathan says, rubbing his strained arm. Wilson feigns coyness. 

“Aw, were you worried about me? About the brain damage I could have got?” he asks, placing his chin in his hands. Nathan snorts. 

“No less than normal,” he replies. Wilson lets out a gasp and he looks up with a frown. “What?” 

“Nathan Summers, did you just crack a joke?” Wilson says in a low whisper. He slaps himself in the face twice. “Did I imagine that? I must be hallucinating.” 

“Shut up,” Nathan says, but there isn’t much anger in it. He motions at Wilson’s torn mask. “Wish you focused on the guy instead of trying to show off.” 

“What is life if not a big stage?” Wilson asks earnestly, looking around the room as if they’re in an opera house. Nathan can only sigh again, and punches Wilson’s arm. 

“Ow! Hey! I’m putting that down to Tate’s dickery and not you being mean.” 

“You wish,” Nathan says. Wilson leans towards him, and he leans away. “Wade.” 

“ _You_ got _you_ good, huh?” Wilson asks, and he reaches for Nathan’s neck where the cyber part is raised, the skin around it red and angry. Nathan recoils from the touch and Wilson pauses. 

“No touchy-touchy?” he asks, hand out hopefully. Nathan scowls. 

“Definitely not. Don’t push your luck.” 

“But weren’t we having a moment?” 

“We weren’t.” 

“It looks kinda bad. I didn’t know that stuff moved, I figured it was vibranium-strength or something.” 

“It’s growing into me, asshole.” 

“Yeah, I know, I just …” Wilson looks at his feet, hands fiddling. “Sorry.” 

Nathan says nothing, but he accepts it silently. Further down the room, the hostages have been safely removed. Cops are making their way up to where Tate is still catatonic. Nathan stands, and Wilson follows. 

“Race you to the jet,” he asks, grinning behind his mask. _You seriously can’t turn off that bullshit button_ , Nathan thinks with disdain, ignoring the suggestion as he picks Tate up by the shirt. After handing him over, Nathan makes his way out of the cinema, with Wilson still on his tail. The guy wants to chat more now that the excitement is over, it seems. They pick their way across marble shards and blood. 

“Cleaners will have a hell of a job,” Wilson remarks, hopping a toppled pot plant. Nathan doesn’t slow his stride, down the escalator and back into the atrium. The place, too, is riddled with police, and he sighs. _Some peace and fucking quiet on my own, is that too much to ask?_

“Kinda sad you killed that guy with the dreads,” Wilson blabs near his shoulder. “I hoped you’d changed your ways, but even some people’s politics can’t be changed.” 

“Wade, please, shut up,” Nathan groans. By some miracle, he does, but only for a little while, as when they pass the froyo stand, he grabs Nathan by the elbow. The touch sends pain jarring up his arm again and he shakes Wilson off with more aggression than probably necessary, but Wilson doesn’t seem to notice. 

“I’m taking some as a treat,” he says, the statement effectively his way of asking Nathan to wait for him. _Pretty please_ , he thinks as he sprints to the open stall. Despite himself, Nathan stops to humour him. He’s too tired to give too many shits right now. It doesn’t take long for Wilson to come scooting back with two cups in his hands, sprinkles and little see-though plastic spoons like fucking garnish. 

“Here,” he says, pressing one to Nathan’s chest. 

“I’m not eating that,” Nathan says, and Wilson deflates. 

“Please? For me? This doesn’t have to be a froyo date, unless you want it to be. Just try it.” 

“It’s not my thing,” Nathan replies, considering ramming the entire froyo cup down Wilson’s eye socket if it’s pushed at him one more fucking time. Wilson pulls his mask up, fixing him with an immature teary-eyed gaze. 

“Pweeease? Just a wittle bit of fwozen yoguwt?” 

Nathan feels an actual violent thrum of revulsion down his spine at the voice and takes the cup from Wilson’s hand just so he stops it. Wilson immediately thinks, _damn, that baby voice worked a number on him._

“I took it so you’d _stop_ that stupid fucking voice,” Nathan says harshly, fury bridling. “Do it ever again and I’ll rip your jaw off.” 

Wilson snorts, spooning strawberry froyo into his mouth. He gestures at Nathan. “I got you the dairy-free vanilla. You like soya, right? I remembered.” 

At those words, Nathan has a brief moment of absolute all-consuming _like_ for Wilson, and it’s so awful that he half crushes the froyo cup in his hand. Wilson chokes as he rams his spoon in his throat like an idiot. 

“GAK—hey, don’t break it before you’ve even tried it.”

Nathan has full intentions to just put the froyo in the freezer when they get home, knowing Wilson will eat it himself inevitably. It’s mostly being incredibly uninterested in the frozen yoghurt that’s stopping him … but also, he admits to himself, _pride_. If he tries it, it’s something for Wilson to hold over him and make dumb fucking jokes about at all the wrong times. _Fucking Mama Jana froyo._

They reach the jet, where Wilson sprints off, thinking, _I bet I can make Colossus wear this cup as a tiny hat._ Neena smiles up at Nathan as he approaches her, half-crushed froyo cup still in hand. She squints at it. 

“That from Wade?” 

“Mm,” he says, drawing his eyes away from where the culprit is attempting to climb Piotr, to meet her gaze. He gestures with it awkwardly. 

“Hard to say no to him, as much as you hate him, right?” she asks, and he’s reminded of her somehow non-psychic intense ability to see right into his mind. He brushes it off with a grunt and she takes the cup from his hand, straightening it out. 

“If you really don’t want it, I can have it,” she says, setting the spoon on top neatly. “I like froyo.” 

“Be my guest,” he shrugs, looking back as he hears Wade scream. It’s a scream of triumph, it turns out, as he’s sitting on Piotr’s shoulders with the froyo cup on his chrome head. 

“Dumbass,” Nathan says. Neena takes the spoon from her mouth and points with it. 

“He’s funny, though,” she muses. “I know you are _very_ humourless, but give the guy some credit.” 

“I guess.” 

She tilts her head, and they both watch Wilson as he slips down Piotr’s back, clinging on around his neck as Ellie has to reluctantly provide a foothold so he doesn’t strangle Piotr. 

“I like these chats,” she says, scraping the edges of the tub where the froyo is melting. 

Nathan is very wary that this conversation could move into boundaries he’s averse to. But then, seeing her thoughts as she catches his eye, he feels his body go cold as he realises – _she knows. Wilson opened his big stupid fucking mouth, and she fucking knows everything._ He finds his fists balled, looking back at Wilson with so much hatred he can practically feel his cybernetics steaming. Neena frowns at him, pushing a sprinkle with the spoon. 

“Something wrong?” she asks. _Yes_ , Nathan thinks, _but it can wait till we’re back._ It takes all his resolve to not go and wring Wilson’s traitorous neck until it breaks right here and now, so he turns and leaves to the jet, unable to stand anyone. 

The ride back, the seething doesn’t stop, the sheer sight of Wilson’s red feet at the top of his vision causing him to grit his teeth. Near to him, Neena keeps looking at him with concern, but he ignores her. Everything is Wilson’s fault, but right now, Nathan doesn’t want to hear a word of her philosophy and reasoning. 

He knows exactly how to get Wilson to follow him like a dumb puppy, simply grasping his wrist and pulling him, through the house and far upstairs. Wade’s shitty heart skips a beat as he trots along. _Nathan’s taking the lead? I didn’t expect that. Was the froyo_ that _good?_

Nathan shoves him into the room, before closing the door behind. He stands facing it a moment, his hand on the hard wood, as Wilson looks at his back expectantly. 

“Nate?” he asks, brimming with questions. Nathan turns slowly, eyes burning.  


“I said,” he begins lowly, drawing his fist back as he approaches. Before Wilson can see it coming, he swings a hook into his jaw, sending him back. “Don’t _fucking_ call me that.” 

Wilson recovers on his feet and wipes his mouth, startled. “Wait, what’s this –”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Nathan says, with enough venom that Wilson, for once, stops. He tries to find words, too angry to think, finally pointing accusingly.“You _told_ her. After I told you _not_ to, a _very_ simple rule, you had to go and _ruin_ it.” 

Wilson’s confusion clears up as he speaks and he almost fucking smiles, but the fury on Nathan’s face warns him off it. 

“So that’s what this is about? I know – okay, dick move of me, but – you know, I needed to –fine, I wanted to tell her about it –she gives good advice. I was so – _am_ so – confused, because you flip-flop how you talk to me as much as Katy Perry’s ex-boyfriend changes his mind –”

“Wade,” Nathan says softly, that softness that radiates danger to Wilson, who closes his mouth again. “I don’t care what pathetic little excuses you think you have.” 

_We can trust Dom with it_ , Wilson thinks, mouth resolutely closed. His eyes are boring into Nathan's. _She doesn’t give two shits who we do the do with. This can’t be some deal about your reputation because she couldn’t care less to find out, and you know it._

Nathan’s almost shaking with anger, fists clenched tight, his cybernetic arm aching all over again. Wilson raises his brow at him. 

_Consider it, Na …ble. Also, bisexuality isn’t a crime, you need to accept yourself –_

Nathan can’t take anymore, kneeing Wilson in the balls before seizing his arm, one hand pushing down on his shoulder as he pulls until he feels it give way, and Wilson lets out a hoot of pain. Nathan steps back, watching Wilson kneel with his arm hanging limply. 

“Was that cathartic for you, buddy?” he wheezes, and looks at his dislocated arm, wiggling it. “Something tells me I got off lightly.” 

“ _That’s_ for fucking sitting on your ass and watching the screen while I had _my_ ass handed to me by my own hand.” 

Wilson stands, grinning. “Yeah, but you looked kinda hot up there, and you know about my thing for arms.” 

Nathan groans at the ceiling at the reminder. He and Wilson then look at each other for a long moment in the quiet of the dark empty room, until he turns his head away. Wilson approaches a few steps. 

“Just a couple of sad old guys having a little fight,” he says lightly, rubbing his arm. “Over if it’s bad in this day and age to be a bit gay. Which it _isn't._ ” 

“Wade, be quiet, you know that isn’t it,” Nathan says tiredly. 

“Okay,” Wilson replies as he steps forward. Nathan steps back a little, shaking his head.

“I can hear your intentions. No. It’s not the time,” he mutters, and leaves Wilson standing alone. As he descends the stairs towards his room, Nathan buries the turmoil in his head, wondering how he didn’t this shit coming, cursing the weakness of his own resolve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Enemies - Terror Jr 
> 
> Bunny and fox is referring to Zootopia's Nick and Judy. 
> 
> I imagined Tate as Caleb Landry Jones when I came back January 2021 to edit this chapter for posting, then I scrolled and there was a comment attached to his name from May 2020: "Caleb Landry Jones" HAH I guess I still picture it without remembering

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god so much happened in 2020 I did not even get a Single Chance to update this since MAY 2020. I'm gonna see if I can get some chapters of it out........ now that it's 2021. I'm so sorry. But having a dream where I was Cable reminded me that this has been sitting here untouched ARHGHHFH..


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